


Sorrow Waited, Sorrow Won

by writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Budding Love, Canon Compliant, Changing Tenses, Character Death Implied, Ficlet, First Kiss, M/M, Obscurial Credence Barebone, One Shot, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Out The Ass, Pre-Canon, Religious Guilt, Soulmates, Suggestive Themes, but he doesn't understand them, graves is a seer, graves shushing, he only sees things pertaining to credence, mild sugar daddying, obscurial!credence, seer!graves, this damn new quote has ruined my life, this got way longer than it was supposed to be, wtf are tenses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: All he gets is a warning, before its too late.But a lot has happened between then and now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "the man i warned you about is getting closer"  
> how do you do it colin? how do you wrek me so with one line?  
> idk wtf this is i honestly just opened a new doc planning a drabble and started writing and this happened.  
> unbetaed~

Credence feels a skip in his step as he leaves the church that afternoon, it’s Wednesday, the day he gets to see Mister Graves, and maybe get a treat. Sometimes the man just slips him a dollar coin, gleaming and heavy against his palm, warmed from being in the man’s pocket, or other times he’s been passed a crisp paper sack with a delicate pastry, still steaming from the oven it was plucked out of.

The wind in the alleyway blows cold, right up until Mister Graves appears at the mouth from nothingness. Then it’s warm and comforting, like a spring breeze, and Credence lets himself relax, just enough to attempt a smile, until he sees the man’s face is serious, lips pressed together in a tight line, jaw tense, dark eyes sweeping over the street and landing on him in an instant.

“Credence… you’re alright.”

He says it like he’s been concerned, like he thought there was a chance of their meeting being delayed by danger. But by now, Credence thinks he would walk through fire just for the chance to see Mister Graves again. Even without being compensated, he’d spend hours at his side. 

He sometimes thinks, he would do  _ anything _ the man asked, if it meant pleasing him. It used to be that there was no rule in the bible that he wouldn’t strive to uphold, but now? Facing his own wanton destruction is nothing, if Mister Graves but demands it.

“Of course sir. How are you today?”

The casual banter could be called a dance, one that he usually avoids with anyone else in the city, choosing silence over empty conversations, when all he is required to do is push leaflets on people, and hope they don’t hit him for being in their way.

“Never mind me, I’m just glad that… well. There’s been a rash of accidents across the city. Houses being destroyed because of gas leaks, buildings being torn apart like parchment paper. I don’t think I could live with myself if I knew you’d been near any of this.”

Mister Graves has gotten close, much closer, and Credence can’t help leaning just slightly nearer to him, like the hymn, like the man is becoming greater than his God. He finds himself praying fervently that today he will earn a hug without having to report on ma’s latest activities. Over a dozen new children have come to meetings to be fed, and soon will be recruited to help spread her message of warning.

“I’m always alright.”

“Credence, you remember I told you about a dangerous person who was causing trouble over in Europe? Planning to start another war if it means advancing their cause?”

Credence nods, earnest and true. As if he could forget a word Mister Graves tells him in his smooth reassuring voice. How many times has he dreamt of being whispered to by it? Of being told wicked and sinful things?

But no. This powerful and handsome and strong man would never really debase himself for Credence’s sake. 

Like God, he was only worthy of adoration.

So he thought.

Mister Graves puts a hand to his face, cupping his cheek so gently it made him ache like he’d not eaten in days. He hadn’t, but that was hardly the point.

“He’s on the move. I have to finish a report on him, and then go coordinate with the European council. I don’t foresee an easy end to this. I just wanted you to know that, in the event something happens, if I can’t make it back, you can always come to the Woolworth building, ask for Miss Tina. You know, the woman who saved you from your mother? The reason we ever met in the first place?”

Mister Graves is smiling at him, eyes locked on his, but the expression seems sad, still more than he deserves.

“Are  _ you _ going to be in any danger?”

The hand on his face slips back around to grasp his neck, and this is it, the moment when the man will pull him in for a hug, he knew it, and so, he holds his breath, and let his eyes close.

“Dear boy, life is full of trouble. I just try to avoid it whenever I can… what’s wrong?”

Credence’s eyelids flutter back open, and his lungs cease their burn when he inhales,

“Oh. Nothing sir. I was just being foolish.”

The man eyes him, and then shifts forward, closing the remaining distance between them, as his arm wraps about Credence’s waist,

“Not at all. I’ll miss you.”

Credence tucks his chin against the rough wool of the man’s coat, and breathes deeply, trying to gather as much of the man’s scent as possible, so when he changes his own clothing, he could still treasure the man’s cologne.

“I’ll miss you too sir.”

“Now then, I think you can drop the formality my boy. Just Percival is fine.”

Credence pulls back in surprise, already shaking his head.

“I couldn’t possibly disrespect you-!”

His protest was cut off by the man pressing his lips to Credence’s, halting all speech and even thought processes for a long moment.

The hand splayed over his lower back remained firm, and on his neck, he felt the man’s fingers curling against the nape.

He couldn’t understand why, what, and how this was happening.

Mister Graves didn’t, wasn’t, he couldn’t…

Credence felt warmth against his chin, and he realized the kiss had broken, and Mister Graves was resting his forehead against his own, breathing hard.

“I apologize… if that was unwanted. I just… feel like it needed to be done before it couldn’t be.”

Credence’s voice is still locked up, his throat has a lump in it, and he realizes his hands were clutching the man’s lapels so tightly they’d be ruined with wrinkles if he didn’t let go. So he does.

His hands slid down the man’s chest to hang limply between them, and Mister Graves retreats a step back at once, clearing his throat and clasping his hands together, before parting them to reveal a golden coin, stamped with an unfamiliar logo.

“Please take this.”

“Is it money?”

Credence found himself asking, voice a raspy croak, and he regretted the question, regretted falling into greed, the second Mister Graves’ face fell.

“No. It’s something to remember me by.”

The man gave him another melancholy sort of smile, and then turns on his heel, walking towards the end of the alleyway, before vanishing with a swirl of light.

Several long moments later, the air turns cold again, and Credence is still standing there, holding the coin tight in his fist, wishing he’d been braver.

*

All his many years of dueling and training and serving as Head Auror, and then Director of Magical Security could not have hoped to help prepare him for facing off with the deadliest wizard of the century. Of the last several centuries.

Percival Graves escaped Grindelwald and death itself by the very skin of his teeth. Apparating away, long distances, with no hope of surviving was all he had. It was the very difficult decision he was forced to make. Landing amidst dirty trash cans and scattered rubbish didn’t faze him.

If only he could have been granted a vision of how things would progress in Germany, that would have been helpful. Unfortunately it seemed his gift only held fractions of a possible future, and it only ever seemed to include Credence. The fragile and beguiling second salem boy who had quite literally stumbled into his awareness.

Hazy outcomes to situations had been helped along by creating potions, or the aid of a crystal ball even, but since meeting the no-maj, Percival’s occasional flickers began to sharpen, and he felt as if he was getting ever closer to the source of the accidents in New York. At least until he’d been called away to attempt to apprehend Grindelwald.

Why he’d only been sent with a team of a half dozen Aurors he didn’t know. He planned to have very strong words with Sera when he got settled and returned to file his status report. She’d probably be more concerned that he’d dared do a cross atlantic apparation than with the fact that  _ six men were dead. _

Something burned over his heart, and he winced before remembering the coin. The token he’d given the boy, had more than just sentimental significance.

If he happened to ever be in danger, it would alert him, and he could go to him, try and do what he could without breaking, or at least bending Rappaport’s Law too far.

First he needed to get home, to clean up and get something to drink, so he turned on the spot again, catching sight of a black alley stray watching him, before he landed again, this time inside his apartment.

He’d barely gotten changed into a casual and blood free set of clothing when the burn returned twice fold, and he staggered against his couch, clutching a hand to his chest, and summoning his wand from where he’d put it down.

He cast a disillusionment charm and then disapparated  _ again _ , following the pull of the token.

The room he appeared in was dark, but for a sliver of moonlight through a barred window, and he frowned, before stepping closer, wand at the ready, only to find a single cot in a corner, upon which lay a trembling figure.

It was Credence.

He looked to be lost in a nightmare, and had both hands tucked under his chin, one in a fist, probably containing the coin.

He was in a great manner of distress, and Percival found himself utterly lost, unsure what to do, or how to help.

It wasn’t until he was right at the boy’s bedside, wand held up with a muttered ‘lumos’ that he noticed the darkness around the boy wasn’t from blankets, but tendrils of smoke constantly in motion over his body.

Was he under attack?

Unlikely. His only adversary seemed to be his dreams.

His unconscious mind.

Percival sighed, and waved his wand, performing a simple spell to help calm the boy, to ease his mental discomfort.

Nothing happened.

If anything, the boy seemed more agitated, and he saw a flash of red inside the blackness swirling atop the boy’s legs.

He swallowed.

This was magic.

Not perhaps dark magic or normal manifestations of power, but something was at work.

He tucked his wand away, and reached out an empty hand to touch the boy’s shoulder, nudging him gently.

Credence relaxed a bit, and his frown faded away the longer Percival stood there. He was just running a hand over the boy’s arm now, and seeing the smoke beginning to retreat, until there was only a thin coverlet over his body.

In a heart stopping moment, the boy’s eyes opened, and Percival withdrew his hand as fast as he could, but of course, he was invisible, there was no chance of-

“Mister Graves?”

He gulped.

“Credence, my boy. You were having a nightmare, I think. You brought me here.”

Too late he realized he could have thought up a story, pretended to be merely in the boy’s head, a dream figure.

“Yes… oh Mister Graves, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you… I just…”

He looked down, hand falling open to reveal the token on his palm, and Percival nodded.

“It’s quite all right. The real question is… how can you see me?”

Credence blinked, and then looked back up at him, dark eyes shining in the moonlight,

“I can always see you.”   
“Credence, I wonder, would you come with me, for just a moment?”

He didn’t mean anything untoward by the question, but he recalled the kiss perhaps the same moment the boy did, and a flush of color stained high cheekbones, and plush lips parted.

“Okay.”

He hadn’t expected the boy to agree so easily, but upon holding out his hand again, Credence took it, and a shiver of warmth bled through him.

He squeezed his fingers around the boy’s, and then pictured his living room, turning on his heel, and bringing them there.

Credence fell away from him, coughing slightly, on his hands and knees in front of the dying fireplace, and Percival swore to himself. He should have warned the boy better.

“I apologize. Side along traveling can be rather… jarring the first time.”

“What… was that?”

Credence lifted his head up to stare at him, jaw agape, and eyes wide. Percival tried not to think about how pretty a picture he was like that, on his knees, and instead helped the boy back to his somewhat unsteady feet.

“Magic. I suspect very highly you have some in your blood. You are not what you appear.”

It would also explain why his visions were being enhanced so greatly, because of or in spite of the boy’s proximity to him.

Credence looked just as taken aback as when he’d appeared to him in his presumable bedroom.

“I can’t… I’m not an abomination…”

Percival couldn’t help smiling at that.

“Is that what your mother calls it? Witches and wizards are a plague upon the earth? Don’t tell her but, we likely outnumber the rest of her kind.”

Credence just stared as he withdrew his wand, and held it out to him,

“You… you’re one of them?”

“Naturally. Why else do you think only  _ you _ know about Miss Tina, and no one else does? Magic was used to erase her appearance from your family’s memory, on my orders.”

“Why not me?”

Percival sighed,

“Because for some reason I believed her when she said you were trustworthy. Now I know it to be true. Come now, take it.”

He waggled his fingers slightly, palm outstretched with his silver inlaid wand sitting atop it, demanding the boy’s attention, before Credence lifted a hand of his own, and gently accepted it.

There was an instant reaction, as the fireplace flared up, and red sparks shot out of the end, Percival marveled at the wordless display of power.

Credence for his part looked very startled, and more than a little worried, carefully setting the wand back down on the small table sitting in front of the couch, backing away slowly.

“I don’t… I can’t…”

“My boy, do you know what this means?”

The boy’s voice was a hushed whisper, filled with dread,

“I’m a freak.”

Percival shook his head, and took three strides over to Credence’s side, swept him into his arms, one hand bracing the back of his neck, the other holding tight around his waist,

“Nonsense. You’re one of us. You’re not a no-maj.”

“I am?”

His voice was muffled as his face was pressed into the fabric of Percival’s smoking jacket, and he grinned, pulling back to grin at him as a sense of latent pride welled up in his chest, along with something else, something sharp and hot that made him almost dizzy.

“You hold so much potential. You’re host to something that’s called an obscurus. It’s your magic, but you can control it, with that.”

He nodded to his wand, and Credence blinked, licking his lips before speaking,

“Can you teach me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

He stood there a moment longer, still holding the boy close, before he realized it was a bit inappropriate, both being wizards or not, so he moved back, and summoned his wand to have something to do with his hands.

“Can you take me home Mister Graves?”

Credence asked, voice in a low murmur, and Percival inhaled sharply,

“Certainly. Forgive me, I got lost in thought.”

It was a lie.   
He’d been trying to put words to the dangerous request of simply asking him to stay.

Too much too fast.

*

Credence wakes up in his own bed, feeling a strange sort of contentedness that usually only comes with a forbidden sort of dream, but he cannot recall any such thing. Not to mention his pants are perfectly clean and dry.

He goes about his morning chores and finally accepts his handful of leaflets to go distribute on a corner, right across from the Woolworth building. He wonders when Mister Graves will return back to the city from Europe. The ghost of the kiss which he’d been gifted before the man had left in a hurry still tingles on his lips, somehow.

He brought his hand up to touch them, to discourage or continue the line of thought, he wasn’t sure yet, when something caught his eye. The familiar navy coat, the sharp line of a white starched shirt, and there he was, the man himself, nodding over at Credence from just outside the revolving doors of the building.

His heart quickens in his chest, and he takes a step closer, not even minding the sidewalk, the curb, the fact that he must put out his hands to catch himself when he falls.

The pain vibrates up his arms, and he winces, feeling as gravel bites his palms, alongside older barely healed wounds from his belt in his ma’s hand.

Before he can bemoan the fact he’s lost all of his fliers and surely he’ll be denied dinner for it, shined leather shoes that he can almost make out his reflection in are stepping into view. A hand dangles in front of him, and he looks up to meet his savior's eyes.

Such casual blasphemy tells him that he’s gone, gone over the moon for this man, and now that he’s at last returned, Credence can confess his sins.

“Mister Graves…”

He remembers to breathe.

The man smiles warmly, and knocks the street out from under him with such an expression.

“Credence, my boy, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?”

He nods eagerly before he can stop himself and follows the man’s lead into a nearby alleyway. It’s not their usual, but it will do.

“You’ve hurt yourself.”

He says it’s nothing, and he’ll be okay, but Mister Graves places his other warm and broad palm overtop his own, and shushes him, not unkindly, until his skin tingles and the man’s hand moves, and the blood and gravel and cuts are gone.

“Do you remember last night? What I told you? Someday, you’ll learn to do that for yourself.”

Credence looks up so fast to meet the man’s quirked brow and curved lip that he feels dizzy. It hadn’t been a dream? He had been inside the man’s house? His living room? So close it was like they might kiss again?

How….

“Mister Graves… are you a wizard?”

He’d never heard the man laugh before, but now he does, low and gruff, like an automobile gliding past on the street.

“Yes, my boy, as are you.”

Oh.

That makes him want.

Want things he should have said he did.

Was afraid to before. Not now. Now that the man was home, was safe, and was there, right in front of him.

“Credence?”

He didn’t do anything beyond smile, or beam rather, before surging forward, into the man’s chest, hugging him tightly as he did his best to kiss him like he could put everything he was feeling into the gesture.

The bliss lasted only a moment, before the man was retreating, begging off a moment, and cupping his face in his warm hands.

“Credence, dear boy, I cannot tell you how happy this makes me, but I came to speak to you, about something urgent.”

Credence nods, and tries to calm his frantic heartbeat.

He could scarcely beg the man to let it wait, and simply continue ravishing him in a dirty alleyway.

“Yes Mister Graves, what is it?”

“The man I warned you about, the man I was sent to Europe to contain, is getting closer. I don’t know how long I have, but I barely got away. He will follow. He’s going to find you. I can’t be here to protect you at all times, so you must promise me, you will be careful. You must hide your powers for a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

Credence felt the knot inside his stomach roar back to life with dread.

But he nodded.

“Yes Mister Graves.”

“Percival, please.”

“Percival, when will I see you again?”

The man’s smile looked far too forced for his liking,

“Next Wednesday of course. I won’t miss it for the world.”

  


But he did.

When Mister Graves came to him on a Sunday instead, asking about a child who he’d seen in a vision, Credence knew something was wrong, but he didn’t say a word.

He knew that he was the one the man was looking for.

It had to be him.

The touches were still there, healing and insistent and there were no more kisses. The man never used his wand. He always appeared in the alleyway, without a change in temperature of the air.

It wasn’t until he called Credence ‘useless’ that he knew, this was not his Mister Graves.

  


So in the subway, he roared with righteous fury, broken and burned, turning into the full potential of his magical power, only to see a flicker of recognition on the man’s face, a touch of sincerity, enough to make him hesitate and cease the attack.

It was enough to allow danger to approach.

Wisps that were all that remained of him floated to the ground and along the wind, and all Credence could wonder was,

  
  


_ ‘Where was his Mister Graves?’ _

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [if you like, consider this a spiritual prequel to the twin fic, before the magical erasing thunderstorm happens... >.> ]


End file.
